


make it rise

by afterreign



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: ... kind of?, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Character-centric, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of choking, No Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, One Shot, Pining, Pre-Relationship, fantasizing about murder, goro kind of has a breakdown but recovers, it's goro's mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29134734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterreign/pseuds/afterreign
Summary: “And what are the ingredients needed for a perfect loaf?” Goro inquires out of sheer need to continue this tirade, if not to entertain the barista.“It’s what you’d think.” Kurusu lists, “Eggs, flour, sugar, salt…”“The basics, I gather.”“And,” adds Kurusu, coy, “love, of course.”Or: Goro receives two gifts. They get varying reactions.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Shido Masayoshi, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	make it rise

**Author's Note:**

> happy 2/2, everyone! (this fic has nothing to do with it, but happy "this isn't small potatoes" day, nonetheless!!)
> 
> so, this fic was written because my s/o gave me some bread and then my brain somehow made this. i... honestly did not expect this fic to get _this_ long. i'm a little excited since this is the first longfic i've written in a while, and it's shuake nonetheless. let's see how this goes...
> 
> edit 2/7: if you saw me change the summary, no, you didn't ♡
> 
> have fun reading! ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ

Shido had called Goro a diamond in the rough.

It was one of the few compliments Shido has ever given him, a little wishbone thrown to a starving crow. Goro hates the way he preens at the double-edged flattery, basks in that rush of parental affection he hasn’t had since his mother threw herself in front of a moving train, yet he can’t deny he doesn’t like being praised either.

Some days, Goro thinks about the statement and contemplates its validity. Diamonds are created under enough pressure that allows them to form, giving birth to something beautiful and shiny – and pointless, Goro argues, but no one wants to hear that. His mother had called him pretty when he was born and pitiable when she died. Maybe there was some truth to the compliment.

Other days, Goro thinks about Shido’s words and hates them. Wants to carve them out of his ears, purge every disgusting syllable of the politician’s praise from his being. _Pressure_ , Goro wants to scoff, and he thinks about what constitutes as enough to make him be born and not make him break. His mother’s suicide? The system that vomited him into the hands of cruel parents over and over? Shido, a man he wants to bring to ruin even if he has to die for it? If all of that made Goro beautiful, he hoped everyone else remained ugly.

Anyway. Today, Goro receives bread, which sounds completely unrelated, yet he feels like it isn’t.

“Is this a new item on the menu?” the celebrity asks when Kurusu offers him a slice, the former’s voice perfectly modulated to match his princely facade. He’s reminded of the melon pan at the Yon-Germain Bakery and wonders how well it would pair with a cup of coffee. “I’m not surprised. Pastries and baked goods are commonly served in cafés, after all.”

But Kurusu shakes his head. “Nah, it’s just something I made when I was free,” he says nonchalantly.

Goro somehow doubts it. He’s bumped into Kurusu numerous times – at the underground mall, the convenience store, the beef bowl shop. It seems like every day, Kurusu is working at one of his part-time jobs without break, Leblanc included. It’s made tracking the probationary teen easy, that’s certain. Although, Goro can’t imagine how free Kurusu’s schedule really is. He can’t discern if the teenager in front of him is lying either.

“I see,” replies the brunet, dissatisfied. Goro doesn’t want to seem too invested in Kurusu’s free time. Instead, he gives some lip service. “I must say I’m quite impressed with your skills, Kurusu-kun. I’m not really a great cook, much less a baker myself…” Cue the practiced laughter. “I find myself feeling a bit envious, actually!”

“I can teach you,” Kurusu offers.

“I wouldn’t want to impose. I’m sure you are quite the busy samaritan.”

For reasons he cannot fathom, Kurusu pouts. It’s a little childish for someone of his caliber. Acting like a five-year-old isn’t befitting for the leader of vigilantes—but Goro isn’t supposed to know that side of Kurusu yet anyway.

( _You won’t know that side for long either_ , he thinks. The thought leaves a metallic taste in his mouth. Like he can already smell Kurusu’s blood on his hands.)

Moments later, as quickly as a pout found itself on Kurusu’s face, so does a smile that replaces it, warm and sweet, and Goro ponders on how everything seems so easy for someone only a year younger than him. 

Kurusu plays with his hair, almost shy. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he decides. “I… can send you a YouTube link, if you want? The ingredients aren’t that expensive either.”

“And what are the ingredients needed for a perfect loaf?” Goro inquires out of sheer need to continue this tirade, if not to entertain the barista.

“It’s what you’d think.” Kurusu lists, “Eggs, flour, sugar, salt…” 

“The basics, I gather.”

“And,” adds Kurusu, coy, “love, of course.”

“Of course,” Goro repeats in a near mocking tone. Sensing he’s getting a tad too snippy, he clears his throat and plasters on a smile. “Ever the jokester, I see. I’m not sure if ‘love’ is ordinarily listed in bread recipes.”

“It’s already implied,” the younger of the two reasons with what very little reason he has. There’s a devious glint behind his dark-framed glasses. “Every professional baker knows this, Akechi. It doesn’t need to be written down.”

The detective quirks an eyebrow, bemused. “I assume this is where you tell me you’re a baker of such proficiency?”

“You read my mind! Are you sure you’re not psychic?”

“It’s deduction, Kurusu-kun,” Goro brushes off. “You sound unusually confident in your skills considering you picked up this hobby recently.”

“Well, I’m already qualified…” 

“Oh? Do clarify.”

“You see, I filled out my baker application and everything. Pretty long process, too. I’m just waiting for my certificate in the mail now.”

“Pardon me, then. I’ll retract my previous statement. Forgive me for not knowing that I was talking to one of the _elite_ ,” teases Goro, a gloved hand raised to cover what he realizes became an actual, genuine grin.

He… enjoys this, as much as he hates to say it. The banter, the comfort Kurusu provides and Goro gladly takes. When did it come to be that he felt more well-rested at this, bluntly put, hole in the wall than his own apartment? Not to say Leblanc is lacking in any finesse. The café is impressive in its own right, what with its promise of delicious coffee and rustic charm.

It’s no home, though. Or it shouldn’t feel like one. Goro can’t even imagine how Kurusu manages to sleep here. Home is a bed, a closet, and a bathroom. Those are the general components of the apartment Shido’s given him, at the very least. Home shouldn’t have a wall of assorted coffee beans with names he fumbles over or a wooden bartop with carved in kanji by customers or the ever gregarious Kurusu making one of his witty remarks.

And it looks like Kurusu is about to make another one, a comment that’s both equally amusing and unnerving, but stops. “Oh, right,” he mutters. “I should probably give you bread before I forget.”

Before Goro can point out that he never agreed in taking the bread (though he has no reason to say no; free food _is_ free food, and he isn’t too picky as long as it’s not abhorrent), Kurusu rushes to the back of the coffee shop, presumably to cut him a slice. So, Goro waits patiently, his fingers drumming against the bartop.

From the back, Kurusu calls, “Akechi, close your eyes!”

Goro sighs yet allows his eyelids to fall shut anyway. “Is this truly a necessary step?”

“Yeah, to not ruin the surprise!” sings Kurusu.

“Wh—Kurusu-kun, I already know it’s _bread_.”

“ _Special_ bread.” Like that ‘correction’ needed to be made. “It comes from the heart.”

There’s some rummaging, a quiet cough or two before Goro hears the graceless thud of what he presumes to be the bread that Kurusu plops down in front of him. He opens his eyes to see exactly that: a loaf with a golden-brown outside. It’s encased in plastic wrap.

“Ah,” Goro says. “Bread.”

“Special bread,” Kurusu reiterates and clicks his tongue. He pushes the loaf to Goro. “Here, take it.”

Goro almost gapes. All of it?

“Surely you don’t plan to give me an entire loaf,” he protests, already about to push the bread away. “I thought you were giving me a slice.”

“That’s the surprise.” Kurusu beams. “I made you a whole loaf.”

Goro blinks up at him, eyes darting back to the loaf of bread and the satisfied smile across Kurusu’s features. He doesn’t know if he should be confused or weirdly touched by the gesture. Maybe he’s both. “Why?” is all Goro asks.

“Because,” Kurusu says with a shrug, “it’s good bread. And you deserve nice things.”

“I have nice things,” Goro automatically huffs, but he finally accepts the bread, dragging it towards him. It feels foreign in his hands. “Thank you, though. I’ll be sure to have some later on.”

Now, Kurusu is the one teasing, his head playfully tilted to the side. His neck is exposed, pale and unassuming, and Goro files away the birthmark right where Kurusu’s Adam’s apple is. How foolish, really, to expose one’s neck to your future killer. What would happen if Goro reached out and—squeezed it? Dragged his fingers across it?

“You better,” Kurusu reprimands, and Goro almost has whiplash before realizing what the former is talking about. “You look like you only eat an apple a day.”

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” Goro rhymes in a sing-song tone. His voice flattens. “Detective’s work keeps me busy, Kurusu-kun. I doubt I have the time to have an extravagant breakfast every day.”

“Baked bread isn’t ‘extravagant,’ you narc. And… mmkay, think. People are like bread, right?”

“… What?”

“You know!” Kurusu apparently thinks this is an opportune time to do jazz hands. Goro stares, dumbfounded, as the barista continues. “You have to, uh… rest in order to rise.”

“What a fascinating metaphor.”

There’s a moment of pause before the barista snorts. “Akechi, I can’t tell if you’re being serious! I mean, I hope so. I stole that off the Internet.”

“Is this how you learned how to smooth talk your way out of trouble?” laughs Goro.

“I do anything to level up my charm,” Kurusu says wryly, like it’s a private joke. “Anyway, in case you don’t know, bread _isn’t_ extravagant. If anything, it should be… a human right.”

“Powerful words here, Kurusu-kun.”

A flustered Kurusu rolls his eyes. “And here I thought you of all people would know that eating a good meal is important,” accuses Kurusu. “Helps your brain and body get going and all.”

He does have a point there. Logically, factually, what Kurusu said—the importance of a good meal, not the human right part, of course—is true. There’s not much room for argument particularly.

Then, Goro thinks. He remembers his escapades in the Palaces of the corrupt elite and the many more to come. The only thing he runs on is the rage coiling in his stomach, hot and abundant. The winding staircases, the nigh impossible hordes of Shadows he battles solo – they wouldn’t have been overcome by a nice meal or two, no. A pleasant plate of eggs and bacon isn’t going to do anything. It’s the need, no, _compulsion_ for vengeance that pushes him, centers him.

That makes him feel full even when it leaves him so empty afterward.

“I don’t have the time,” Goro settles on.

It’s an unsatisfying answer for both parties. Kurusu frowns. “Don’t make me worry about you like Yusuke. I will somehow find your apartment, break in, and cook you breakfast every day, if I have to.”

“Do _not_.”

When Goro receives a smirk from Kurusu that screams _make me_ , Goro knows he’s lost. That grin…

It's the same kind Goro saw when he followed the Phantom Thieves’ leader down Mementos one night. He told himself he was tracking him to assess his weaknesses for later use, whenever an inevitable battle would arise between the two. After that, he’d head home. No more, no less.

( _It’s unchivalrous to lie to oneself_ , Robin Hood had ribbed casually. Loki cackled, egging the Persona user on. Goro hated both of them.)

It was the show that Kurusu put on that made Goro wish to stay. Whenever there were Shadows in the thief’s line of sight, Goro would catch a glint of pearly white before Kurusu charged forward with unmatched confidence, his dagger dancing in the air as he sliced through enemies like butter. And Kurusu, dressed in darks, would stand there with the fading groans and moans of the Shadows, between the pulsating walls of Mementos, until his smile faded, the rush gone for him but ever present for Loki rumbling within Goro.

( _It’s bewitching_ , he thinks, leaning closer to imprint the smirk into his memory.

Then: _Ah. Another thought to shelve away._ )

Oddly flushed, Goro tries to change gears. “I hazard Kitagawa-kun eats better because of you,” surmises the detective. He tucks a lock behind his ear. “So, for what it’s worth, I do appreciate you… worrying about me. Like you do with your other friends. It’s…” He stops and searches for the right word before settling with an embarrassed, “… nice.”

Kurusu shrugs again, his chest rising with the fall of his shoulders. Then, like a broken, perfect record: “You deserve nice things.”

“Nice things, huh,” Goro echoes. There is a hint of bitterness he can’t seem to mask.

Kurusu’s face softens with worry— _As if he wasn’t soft enough!_ Goro wishes to spit out. It’s indiscernible to any random onlooker yet clear to the brunet in front of him. Kurusu is sometimes too easy to read, a stark contrast to the secretive thief Japan already builds him up to be. Goro is one thing; an “upstanding” teen who wears perfection as if it’s been fitted to his face. Shido has laid the building blocks to shape Goro into the country’s sweetheart, a loyal dog, an assassin in the night, as long as it fits his deranged father’s needs. Goro and fakery are synonymous.

Kurusu? Let’s get one thing straight – Kurusu is a _fool_. And with how much he wears his heart on his sleeve, Goro figures he can dare to be as vulnerable, too.

“I don’t know if I deserve such trivialities,” he confesses, almost mournfully hesitant. His eyes drift from the hefty loaf to Kurusu standing opposite of him, dark, perfect curls framing his face. “But I would like to.”

* * *

That day, Goro ate bread.

He begrudgingly admits that it looked good and smelled good and it was just. Good. The texture was soft, and the taste of it was sweet, like the loaf was something straight out of a bakery. It was infuriating how much he enjoyed something so simple. Even without doing anything to it, Goro knew that Kurusu made something delicious.

 _For me_ , he thinks as if he's not convinced. _And it was for me._

It becomes ingrained in his routine. For the next following days, Kurusu’s bread was unwillingly part of his early mornings, like how the dark-haired teen had wedged himself into Goro’s life. It would only be a matter of time until all that's left of the loaf are the crumbs Goro would sweep into the trash bin.

That sentimental idiocy of Kurusu’s must have been rubbing off on him. Goro felt compelled to make his last remaining portions special. So, he does.

On an otherwise uneventful Tuesday, Goro drags himself out of bed earlier than usual, both to mentally prepare himself that a) he’s become such a fool these days and b) because of being such a fool, he might burn down his kitchen. Grimly, he looks at what might be the last he sees of his apartment before it’s engulfed by flames and gets to work.

Goro knows how to work a toaster in theory, so he does that first. With the power of technology, the last of the bread transforms into two slices of toast. A dark charcoal color forms at the edge of the crusts just the way he likes it.

Eggs are next, which are the teen’s main concern. He never excelled in anything related to home economics, and making eggs falls in that category. His worries are put to rest, however. After understanding that flipping an egg leads to unmentionable chaos, as if his _Personas_ were the ones cooking breakfast, Goro successfully plates a sunny-side-up egg on each slice of toast. He ignores the carnage that is his kitchen.

Goro takes a moment to admire his work, proud. He snaps a picture of the food and sends it to Kurusu. He eats. It takes five minutes to finish everything and three for his phone to buzz enthusiastically.

When he checks his phone and scrolls through the spam of emoticons and exclamation points, Goro can’t help but sigh – in exasperation or adoration, he’s not sure. The text messages are nearly incoherent like Kurusu himself, though Goro supposes that’s what makes it all the more charming. He smiles and begins typing out a message.

The doorbell rings.

It rips the brunet out of his content state, his shoulders stiffening at the noise. His grip on his phone tightens. If the doorbell is ringing this early, then it has something to do with the degenerate that is his father. Goro clicks his tongue. Burner phones and secret meetings in his office aren’t enough for Shido, apparently.

A sense of unease washes over him as he sets his dishes down in the sink and treads to the door. Because Shido likes to make him suffer from even the most minuscule of details, Goro’s apartment door doesn’t have a peephole. Quite the flaw there. He must instead rely on opening the door just a tad to see who it is, the risk of someone bouldering in at the back of his sleep-addled brain.

Goro knows it’s on purpose. He takes a deep breath of air and opens the door.

What greets him is somehow something worse. At his feet is a nondescript cardboard box, no smaller than the size of Kurusu’s mangy cat. Goro gingerly picks it up and weighs it in his hand. It’s not heavy enough to be a bomb, much to his relief, yet questions still swim in his mind. He looks back and forth in the hallway, and when his half-hearted search for one of Shido’s cronies comes up empty, he slips back into his apartment.

It doesn’t take long for the detective to retrieve a knife from the kitchen and slice through the tape. Methodically, he drags the weapon down straight lines until he sees a peek of the package's contents. He pushes open the box’s flaps and picks up the note inside.

In typed letters, it reads the following:

_Here’s a gift of my gratitude since your work has been up to par. Keep up the pace._

“Or else,” Goro finishes, his words ending in a hiss. Though, consider his curiosity piqued. He tosses the note aside, his eyes tracing the polished, rectangular case in the package with fascination. 

Gathering the case in his hands, he inspects it closer. There are a few ideas he has on what it is exactly – a pen, a watch, anything small. His heart leaps at the thought that it may be a genuine gift from Shido, no strings attached. The man has come to his senses after all and recognizes his forgotten son’s efforts.

Goro is quick to stomp away at those feelings. If it’s something nice, there’s always a catch. He dismisses the thought altogether. There’s no need for theories when the answer of what it is is one step away.

And one step away it should have stayed. When Goro props open the lid, he stares. Laughter tumbles out of him involuntarily. Goro laughs, and it’s an ugly sort of thing, like he’s coughing up the heart stuck in his throat. He laughs until tears form in his eyes, and he needs to wipe them away, as he fights back the urge to keel over.

He laughs because it’s a joke.

Goro lets the box drop, clattering against the wooden floor, and holds up the item in his hand—a dark fountain pen with a diamond perfectly placed on its barrel, encrusted in fourteen karat gold. Its sheen matches no other. Goro’s face, warped and misshapen, is reflected in the little gem.

“Ah,” he realizes, voice dead, “he thinks I’m a joke.”

The fountain pen feels like lead in his palm. Suddenly, Goro has never felt so small, that the weight of the pen could crush him. Would hurling it across the room make him feel better? Or would it be worse, knowing that Shido’s little taunt has gotten under his skin?

 _How cruel of him_ , both Loki and Robin Hood croon. _You should—_

— _show him your justice_ , Robin Hood concludes.

— _hurt him!_ Loki ends.

“That’s the same _fucking_ thing,” snaps Goro, his lip trembling.

His knuckles turn white as he holds the writing utensil with a deadly grip. He pictures it shattering in his hold.

For a moment of reprieve, Goro imagines a world where he forgoes the scheme he’s been nursing, his lovely little ode to his mother accelerated. He imagines waltzing into Shido’s office with a pleasant smile and the intent to kill. His arms would twitch at his sides in anticipation. Like always, Shido would swivel around in his leather chair—a present from one of his many patrons—to face Goro until the politician gestured for him to sit. And Goro may be a dog, but dogs _bite_. He’d lunge at Shido with a snarl, eat up that delicious flicker of fright in his eyes, before plunging the pen he fashioned sharp enough to puncture into that wretched bastard’s throat.

A tit for tat. Goro wants to see everything. The black ink swirling with the red that spurts from Shido’s neck, a wide-eyed Shido gurgling at the fact he’s so easy to bring down…

The recognition that Goro has had enough.

And then the anger just… bleeds out. Or no, it’s still there, brewing. Writhing in his stomach like a serpent under a heel. It’s been there since he’s been born, and his mother’s death is fuel to the growing fire. There's no getting rid of it.

But with the presence of fury, so exists fatigue. Acceptance.

Goro peers into the gem and is unsurprised at the faint outline of his dark circles mirrored back to him. He almost wants to make a big show out of it, obsessively applying concealer until his flaws are shielded from the world. He can’t find himself the energy to care, either. 

_Flaws…_ Goro touches his face like it’s the first time he’s seen it. Without his gloves, he can feel how cold he is. He prods gently near his eyes before sighing.

Goro almost wants to retreat into himself. How immature of him that something so insignificant pushed him to the edge. He can’t let Shido’s _jab_ get to him. Goro’s plan is going so well already; people worship the celebrity for his looks and intellect, the Phantom Thieves are in the palm of his hand, and Shido is still none the wiser that he’s closer to his demise than ever.

Shido _will_ get his comeuppance. All Goro needs is time. 

Without regrets, the brunet takes the fountain pen and stuffs it in the first drawer he sees. Throwing it out isn’t a great idea when he knows Shido’s lackeys are always watching his every move. It would be seen as “disrespectful” or whatever bullshit the high-on-power politician would claim when hearing the news. Better to pretend he likes it.

Better to pretend at all.

In the kitchen, the knowing chime of a cell phone pulls him back to reality, ringing throughout the apartment. Goro strides to the kitchen counter with apprehension, unsure if it’s the devil himself.

It isn’t. Upon reading the newest message from none other than his target, he shakes his head in relief. There’s comfort, Goro finds, in someone who doesn’t see him as a tool. Even if that someone is temporary.

An idea flashes in his mind—an idiotic one, really—and against his better judgment, the detective’s fingers are typing out a message. A request. He sends it. _'I know I rejected your offer prior, but… would you teach me how to make bread? Your own efforts intrigued me.'_

The phone pings in seconds. _'When are you free?'_

Goro feels the corners of his lips quirk upwards. For now, his rage is on pause. There will come a time when all Goro is consumed by is tearing Shido down, when he witnesses his sorry excuse of a father fall off his pedestal. When everything, every passing pleasant interaction he has with Kurusu is nothing more than a dream. That is not today.

For now, Goro rests.

**Author's Note:**

> the most unrealistic part of this fanfiction is that goro was able to cook
> 
> thank you to [juli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jubilantscribbler) and [harlee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KFG24) for betaing my fic and dealing with goro shenanigans. also, feel free to beat me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/afterreign) and whatnot
> 
> and i'd like to leave you all with my favorite note from my betas, so here it is :)  
> 


End file.
